


Ghosts

by Nny11



Series: Close But No Cigar [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Family is complicated, Gen, Setting the stage, Sibling Relationship, Story Recap, Togrutan traditions, but love doesn't have to be, fluff with whump then implied additional fluff, kinda hurt/comfort?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-19 02:03:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14864568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nny11/pseuds/Nny11
Summary: Master Koon lets her explore his garb, only redirecting her if she gets close to his light sword. The Master doesn’t seem bothered to have a child literally chewing on his gauntlets or pulling at the layers of his tunic. One of his clawed hands gently scratches at Ahsoka’s head and back. She seems happy. She is happy. She will be happy.And Zanzi will be remembered as yellow clay and kisses and love.And nothing more.





	Ghosts

Zanzi was almost twenty when his mother Azaahsa grew heavy with child once more and he had wasted no time in lovingly pestering her about who his sister’s father was.

Was it Takraa the self assured carpenter? Takraa’s smirk and deadly sense of humor was well known for seducing anyone he cared to have; men, women, aliens, everything in between and beyond.

“He’s been eyeing you, I’ve seen it,” Zanzi said with a bright smile as his mother rolled her eyes at him.

Was is Vadim the brilliant storyteller? The man was quiet until he spoke, and everyone agreed he knew the tales better than anyone else. What honeyed words he could drip in someone’s ear! His mother Azaahsa was a singer, and self admittedly a fool for those blessed with silver tongues.

“Perhaps you were enthralled by his silver tongue too!” Zanzi had said before getting a spanner thrown at him. They had both laughed although he had feigned injury for the rest of the night.

There was also that group of visitors who had his mother’s help repairing some equipment while they stayed in the village. The men had invited her several times for drinks in the tents, and she had not come home a few times before the sun had risen.

“Did one of those human men catch your eye? Perhaps the one with the hair on his face?” He had asked to her apparently endless amusement. She’d laughed so hard she fell sick. Zanzi at least had the grace to be embarrassed about the whole thing.

Not that he had the grace to let it be.

“Someday, I’ll guess right and when I do you must tell me!” He had said with a laugh as he went to help patch Machee’s roof.

Her lekku had twitched with delight, silver eyes narrowed in challenge. “You must first be smart enough to guess, so my secrets will be safe forever my son.”

He had never guessed right or else his mother was a much better liar than he thought.

 

* * *

 

Zanzi stood almost fully grown at just over six feet tall, his montrals finally curling forward and up in a gentle sweep of white and gray. He had wide green eyes set a bit too far apart, and a broad flat nose. He had his mother’s full lips and square jaw. His chin was bisected by a white line that split on the underside of his chin to run parallel down his throat. Two triangles on his forehead had stretched and separated from one another but kept their shape. Besides a few blue tattoos on his arms and chest the rest of him was a soft yellow.

His mother smiled at him fondly, “You look so much like your father.”

Zanzi had loved his father Peckoo. His father had been a kind and hard working man. He was noted for his white mask so large it nearly covered his face and brilliant blue skin. His father’s marks were all in opposite to his own. Zanzi wished he remembered more of him. His father had been killed in a rock slide that had blocked Two Hand Pass years before when he had only been seven. It made his chest ache to hear her compare them, but he loved hearing it all the same. He looked like his father. Zanzi hoped the tales were true and that to look like a parent was to inherit their traits. He wanted to be kind and soft. Full of good humor. A core of diamond.

“Who do you think she will take from?” He’d asked curiously eyeing his mother’s belly.

“With how much she kicks?” Azaahsa had laughed. “Probably you!”

He’d felt a smirk stretch his face. “Who do you think I learned it from?”

 

* * *

 

Zanzi smiled at the little bundle in his arms, his little sister was a blessedly quiet babe. She would sleep and sleep, waking with a squeak rather than a cry when hungry or soiled. Her cheeks had white squares covering them completely, a long line on her forehead with a bump in the middle. Two tiny dots above that. He loved kissing her on one dot, then her little mountain spot, then the other dot. She would stare at him with startling blue eyes, yawn, and sleep. He had never seen anything more magnificent in his life.

 

* * *

 

“Zanzi.” He said, drawing his own name slowly. He had switched to low speak when she’d done nothing but giggle at the way high speak clicked and trilled. Ahsoka sat on the table, head tilting one way and then another like a particularly interested dog. She said nothing but chewed on her fingers all the same.

“Zanzi.” He tapped his fingers at his chin as he spoke, letting her swinging legs kick him in the chest as she smiled. Ahsoka was behind in speaking; all giggles, hiccups, and coughs. So far no words at all.

“Zzzaaaanzzziiiiiiiiiiiii.” He added space to his name, making it hopefully easier to say.

Azaahsa squatted in front of the oven as she turned the meat over, her laughter echoing back easily through the cool smoky air of their home. “She does not speak yet son, she is like me.”

Zanzi let his mouth pull into a smirk, his mother spoke little but was rarely silent. Humming, singing, laughing. Just not much straight speech. “Ah, but you don’t try! My name will be the first thing she can say, just you wait.”

Ahsoka giggled as he kissed her head. Left, center, right. Right, center, left. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders and Ahsoka settled again looking solemn before bursting into a dazzling smile. He took a deep breath, and chuckled as she imitated his puffed up chest. “Zanzi.”

 

* * *

 

Ahsoka pouted, tugging at her dress as if it were some worry stone. She had been nothing but abnormally obstinate that morning. Crying and fussing every time he’d tried to prepare to go to the market. It was a short enough trip, just over a week to take and important. A trip he’d gone on many times to sell their goods. Usually Ahsoka would toddle along beside him through the village and near the edge someone would scoop her up. She would smile and wave to him as he left. They could not figure out why she was so upset now, what was different now from before. All he knew was that if she delayed him much longer Zanzi would not be with the caravan at all. Equally anxious to be off, annoyed to be delayed, and exhausted by her crying.

“You coddle her too much,” Azaahsa had said. There was no heat in her voice, only weariness as she tried to pry her daughter off of his legs.

Zanzi could feel the heat in his head, the way his lekku quivered. He could feel the words climbing up his throat angry and hurt, but could not stop them. “No, I just love her enough.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide in shock. They stood in silence. Him too prideful to take them back, and her too hurt to speak.

Ahsoka burst into tears sobbing loudly and shaking her head. She tugged firmly on his leggings and looked up at him. Tears and snot running everywhere as she turned colors. “Zizi no bye!”

The silence grew but the tension had broken for him, replaced by surprised shock.

“Zizi no bye, no bye Zizi!” She pleaded into his knees, voice muffled by the cloth.

Zanzi all but dropped to his knees. He couldn’t help the smile as he stared down at his little sister. “Soka, you can talk. You can talk!”

Looking up he could see his mother, one arm around her stomach the other over her face. Zanzi could not remember the last time he’d see his mother cry. His emotions crashed, his own tears coming too. He had made them both cry. He felt sick, lightheaded, ashamed. He sat down on the floor, letting Ahsoka crawl into his lap, and patted her head. He promised, “Zizi no bye. Zizi stay ok?”

Ahsoka said nothing but went boneless, his mother scooping her up. Leaving him crying alone at the door.

Zanzi didn’t go on the trip, and was spared. Their merchant caravan had been hit by a group of nearby pirates. They lost two of their best hagglers and a hunter.

 

* * *

 

No one was quite sure why Ahsoka did what she did. She was very friendly, but very quiet. She enjoyed being spoiled and carried around but when she wanted to be alone the girl could disappear. Mochi had already started staking a claim to make her a hunter, Machee was ready to physically fight anyone who interrupted their crafts, and Ehtok wanted her for a scout. And there were more. Everyone was about ready to proclaim Ahsoka as a member or their trade or craft, and Ahsoka seemed completely happy to do it all. She never seemed to tire the way most children did during the day. She could entertain herself if needed. She just seemed to know how to stay out of danger, or how far to push people before stopping.

Their mother sighed with exasperation and infinite fondness, “She has everyone ensnared. We will have to build a shrine for her if this keeps up.”

It wasn’t that she wasn’t proud, but Azaahsa was the one who had to run around everyday trying to find her daughter. Zanzi had offered, after all Ahsoka was always easy for him to find.

All you had to do was follow the holes.

Ahsoka had taken to digging like she had taken to everything, suddenly and with great gusto. She had learned how to climb trees and while obsessed with that was usually found only because trees don’t giggle. Although after she’d climbed a stinging tree Ahsoka had grown wary. Everyone had been a bit relieved until she’d started digging holes. She would dig to clay and usually ended up covered in it from tip to heel. Her blue eyes the only thing escaping the yellowish brown. He’d asked her once why she did it and Ahsoka had grabbed his hand. “Look, brothers!”

Zanzi had laughed himself silly.

 

* * *

 

She had used the Jett’i magic, the magical will that they could control. She had used it. Ahsoka was Jett’i. Zanzi held her close and tight, and cried on her. It was bad luck but he couldn’t stop the tears. He’d cried harder when she offered him her little ball with a watery frown. “No crying Zizi!”

“Ok,” he whispered, placing the ball aside and kissing her head. Left, center, right. Right, center, left. Left, center, right. Right, center left.

 

* * *

 

He could feel his own anger growing. Zanzi believed in his people and believed in his elders, but this- this! They spoke about profits, monies and cash. They spoke of his little sister’s future not in terms of what she could do or be, but how much money they could profit by telling the Jett’i about her. Assigning her a price tag. Reducing her to some number.

“We are not slavers, we will not be selling her to anyone!” Zanzi growled.

The room erupted into shouts, the elders offended and horrified. The anger palpable in the air. He was ready to scream at them when his mother touched his elbow. The words did not come, but they did not shrivel either. They will not sell her like some prized a'ardiyah! She is one of them, she’s been one of them first!

If the Jett’i had wanted her they would have come for her years ago. Years and years ago. It’s not fair! His mother asked for his silence and that request is all that allows them to make a decision. He watches them tinker and hit their communication hub, trying to boost the signal to bounce their message out into space. Farther still, beyond to a relay that would bounce it all the way to the city planet.

_We are the Fetu, and we have a Jett’i child. Her name is Ahsoka Tano. Please, come quickly._

 

* * *

 

Zanzi watches as the Jett’i speaks to the council, Ahsoka has proven she is indeed a Jett’i to him. He will take her away, back to their temple to train. He claims her as his Padawan and he promises she will be safe.

Ahsoka whines in Zanzi’s arms, and he starts to back away towards the entrance. She does not like the Jett’i. She never has. She fears the man and Zanzi has been loath to allow him any quarter.

But he has been planning, there is a bag he prepared full of clothes and jerky. He has kept a copy of the speeder key, he can take it to Hwtik. They have a small space port, they can get passage if not off world at least to Adaba. The city is huge and industrial, with millions of people there, he can hide them both there if nothing else. He can trade labor for passage, maybe even get off planet. And if they won’t take that he has put all his valuable possessions in there. He can sell his bracelets, necklaces, cuffs, and beaded belts. Zanzi is sure he can find someone who will trade. He is ready, the knife strapped under his vest presses against his ribs as Ahsoka squeezes him tightly. She doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want her to. The Jett’i is wrong.

Everyone is wrong!

This is the only option. The right option.

There is a hand on his back, holding him steady. He turns to see his mother’s eyes, sad but convicted. His emergency bag is slung across her chest. Zanzi can feel the tears beading in his eyes, can feel the hot tears from Ahsoka on his neck.

They have no choice without that one bag. He has never hated his mother more in his life.

 

* * *

 

The true Jett’i Master is a terror to look upon, he looks like a demon, he looks like a monster. But he is kind. He is surprisingly gentle. Master Koon seems particularly dedicated to easing their fears. Zanzi’s fears. Ahsoka seems happy, her legs covered in dirt and eyes still puffy from crying. She doesn’t cry now, she smiles and is absolutely fascinated with the Jett’i. Master Koon lets her explore his garb, only redirecting her if she gets close to his light sword. The Master doesn’t seem bothered to have a child literally chewing on his gauntlets or pulling at the layers of his tunic. One of his clawed hands gently scratches at Ahsoka’s head and back. She seems happy. She is happy. She will be happy.

And Zanzi will be like Peckoo for her. She will remember him as yellow clay and kisses and love.

And nothing more.

 

* * *

 

He has said goodbye as best he can, and has left. Afraid that he will change his mind and try to flee with her. His sister. Ahsoka. He doesn’t want to let her go. He cannot stay and see her leave forever, to never come back. He can’t. He can’t. He cried on her head once and brought the slaver down on her, Zanzi refuses to do so again. She will be happy. She will be safe.

He cannot watch her leave and goes instead to the cantina, not for a drink, but because the slaver is there. They have him trussed to a pole, and he hisses as Zanzi enters. This is no man, this is an animal. An animal that lied. That stole his sister. A slaver, he’d wanted to sell Ahsoka. Zanzi’s chest feels like it’s going to burst, his jaw hurts from clenching, he can’t breath, his vision tunnels.

He comes to being held down, with many hands holding him steady.

The slaver lives, he will have no lasting damage which is what spares Zanzi any retribution.

She is still gone, gone, gone.

 

* * *

 

Zanzi is quiet and withdrawn on her sixth birthday, a small wood fetish freshly carved in hand. He’d promised her one, he’d promised. He saved his money and sends it to the Jedi Temple, taking time to painstakingly print the information in Aurebesh as the datapad translates it. Precious credits he has earned to pay for quality shipping and care.

He hopes she will like it.

 

* * *

 

Ahsoka has never answered any of his letters, but Zanzi is not deterred. It is only when his mother finds one as she helps him move, it is only as she looks at him with such pain that he is embarrassed to have sent any. But he clenches his jaw, and stares her down. He dares her silently to judge him. She takes his letter and never says a word.

Every time he sits down to write her after that though, every time, Zanzi remembers his mother’s gaze. The way she looked like she might break in two right in front of him.

He stops sending letters.

 

* * *

 

The war starts suddenly, and the news is horrifying when it finally reaches them. The arena is already becoming legendary. They pull the video clip that someone has leaked showing a few minutes of the battle. It’s a gory, violent blood bath for the Jett’i and the Republic forces. Zanzi has never seen Republic forces like these, gleaming white armor and fighting like the fiercest warriors.

His mother cries out, and the video rewinds, is frozen. She is screaming and pointing, howling. She is so shocked by what she’s seen, it take a moment for her words to become clear. “Ahsoka, my daughter, my baby, why is she there, why are there children there? They said she would be safe!”

It's like he floats just outside his body, heart feeling heavy even as the world slows to a crawl. Zanzi turns, dazed, and stares at the screen again.

Behind the dying soldiers there are Jedi. There is a girl, a Togruta with burnt orange skin and a green light sword. She is close enough to the camera that he can see two little wings on her cheeks. Two diamonds on her forehead with a cliff between them. It’s covered in dust, there is blood on her cheek. Her eyes are wide and wild, but she wears a snarl. This child wears Akul teeth. She has been blooded now, toothed. This girl is a warrior too.

His sister, his bright and smiling sister. She had giggled as he’d kissed her. She had cried when he’d tried to leave.

Someone is touching his arms, pulling at him. He can’t hear what they say.

“Play it,” he asks but it’s as if no one can hear him. The vid remains frozen and the longer he stares, cataloging her injuries, the more it feels like he is dying. It's silent, why is it frozen? Can they not hear him? He shouts to be heard, “Play it, play it!”

They start the vid again.

Ahsoka bats away blaster bolts, back to back with other Jett’i. One by one the other children fall, their bodies raising a small cloud of dust as they topple. Ahsoka tightens the circle, she trips stepping backwards over one of their bodies and falls for a moment. His mother screams and then begins to pray as Ahsoka stumbles to her feet. She is still fighting.

The droid turns away and is sliced in half by a Jett’i with a purple blade.

Zanzi squats down, hands over his face, just trying to breath.

 

* * *

 

They search and search, but there is no public database or record with a list of who survives Geonosis. They cannot even find a full list of Jett’i. Ahsoka could be a ghost if not for the video. She could be dead. They would never know.

Zanzi writes again, to her and to the Temple. Pleading, then demanding, then begging.

No one answers.

 

* * *

 

The cycle begins again a few weeks later, Ahsoka is spotted on another planet. There is only a mention of her name, listing how she helped to win a battle. There is a number showing how many men died to help.

 

* * *

 

It goes on, his life a nightmare. Ahsoka is everywhere now. They find pictures of her on the front lines, at political events, even in the Senate. It seems as if there must be clones of her too. Everyday she must solve some problem and be shipped out to the next one right after. He grows numb to seeing the dead clones. He never grows numb to seeing her surrounded by blaster bolts and droids.

 

* * *

 

The years go by and she is now a Commander in the GAR. Zanzi learns that she spends her fifteenth birthday recovering from the Blue Shadow Virus. The Blue Shadow, known for it’s painful, violent, dreadful deaths. It was supposed to be incurable. The press says nothing more on the matter than that she helped save a Senator’s life.

They say that the Senator is recovering well and resting, surrounded by her family.

 

* * *

 

His mother has made offerings on Ahsoka’s behalf to Inasa. The ajac is prepared and brought, still steaming and hot from the oil. A copper necklace is hung in her home. Azaahsa burns incense and speaks the words of protection. She does so every week, refreshing the drinks and the flowers, refreshing the food and the candles.

Zanzi is grateful, so grateful. He cannot imagine how it must hurt to think of her so often. He tries to forget her. He tries to let her go. He swears at himself and to himself that he must let her go the way he was supposed to all those years ago. That if he will not do what is necessary he must do nothing, he has no claim if he will not act.

He watches the feeds miserably.

* * *

 

She fights the metal General and lives.

She fights a Sith assassin and lives.

She fights and fights and fights, and somehow lives.

Zanzi kneels, his head pressed to the floor, his mouth filling with dust as he prays. He is so grateful to all the gods for watching over her. To his mother for her constant prayers. And begrudgingly to the Temple for its training of her.

She is not safe but she is alive, his sister, the Jett’i.

He has no claim but it helps to show his gratitude. Even if all he has for it is the taste of ash.

 

* * *

 

They say that Ahsoka is a traitor. A coward. A murderer. Ahsoka has escaped and is hiding somewhere, but clones in red and white say they believe she is still on the planet. These clones will find her, they say, it is a planet wide manhunt. The largest manhunt in Coruscant’s recent history. The news feeds show clip after clip of her escape from the compound, then the clones in blue and white searching for her. Every pundit has an opinion. The clones in red and white are staunch that she will be found before the month is up.

The village meets to discuss what will happen to them as a people thanks to this. Zanzi refuses to go. She is nothing like what they say. Photos can be manipulated, stories are always twisted. His sister would not. She would not. He has seen the way she has sacrificed to protect them. His sister is a Jett’i, his sister is innocent.

She would not do this.

 

* * *

 

A week goes by in silence. The Republic still looks.

Zanzi hopes and prays that she has left Coruscant.

They capture her three days later, and photos surface. Ahsoka hangs limp between two clones.

 

* * *

 

The Chancellor declares her guilty and the cameras focus on her. For the first time Ahsoka is shown close up and in detail. Not a side note or a blurry shape in the background. She looks so tired, so distant.

Zanzi watches a live feed instead of tending his market stall, listening hard to the delayed translations. He is so rarely able to, and had volunteered to come to the market just to have that live feed. He will not stop watching now. Not when his sister stands accused. Not now that they are taking her away.

They bring her to an open place, all duracrete with a line of clones. Everything in him aches and screams as the tie her to a pole.

His vision almost blurs and doubles, but Ahsoka stands tall. Head forward, eyes open. She is so very brave and bold, and all she ever did was protect them. The blasters fire and he screams, fist pounding onto his own chest. She goes slack, like a puppet with its strings cut. The Jett’i lied, they **lied**! She was not safe! She was never safe with them!

The cameras keep rolling though and two men run to her still body. The clones in white and blue push a stasis pod. Ahsoka is being placed in it when the cameras finally cut. The news anchor’s are left floundering, unsure of what’s happened. Traitors are not saved and taken to medics, they are executed. Zanzi watches it all through his sobs, the market is silent around him, staring at him 

Within twenty minutes the reports are being made. There was a mistake; the real bomber was found and will be imprisoned for life. Ashoka is cleared of charges and a formal apology will be made on behalf of the Republic.

They do not mention Ahsoka’s actual fate.

 

* * *

 

Days go by as Zanzi hounds the news feeds, waiting for any word. The press is silent. His sister has become a ghost once more, hidden away.

 

* * *

 

Zanzi sits on the ground, splitting wood for kindling when the horn blares. Someone is coming to the village. He doesn’t get up, others will clean the tent and a few hunters will be prepared in case the visitor is trouble. Zanzi simply stares dead eyed at his woodpile and sighs. This work will now be for them. Visitors always want a fire with wood, even with the perfectly good heater in the tents. He grabs another log and keeps working at it.

It’s only when Toolu comes to him, her small frame vibrating from excitement and unable to speak words to him that Zanzi wonders what could be happening. She pulls him by the hem of his vest, too short to reach much else. He stumbles silently behind her.

The visitors have parked their speeder, and are surrounded by a circle. Someone sees him and shouts, making space.

There is a man, taller than he is, he has a scraggly beard and wears sturdy clothes. There is a scar over his eye, and a nervous smile on his face.

Next to him...next to him…? 

Ahsoka half stands, half crouches, holding her mother who has all but collapsed. Her face turns up, startling blue eyes locking onto his. She already has a wide smile, and she’s crying, his little warrior sister is crying. “Zizi!” 

He crumples on top of both of them, arms wrapped around them. But Zanzi doesn’t cry.

He kisses her head. Left, center, right. Right, center, left. 

She is 18 years old. That is six times luckier than three. He refuses to put bad luck on her again. He refuses, he refuses. She’s here and alive.

And home.

**Author's Note:**

> I love this boy? He is so sweet.


End file.
